A poem by Violet Nicolson, Lawrence Hope, Adela Florence Cory Nicolson (1865 – 1904)
Ay, thou has found thy kingdom, Yasin Khan,
Thy fathers’ pomp and power are thine, at last.
No more the rugged roads of Khorasan,
The scanty food and tentage of the past!
Wouldst thou make war? thy followers know no fear.
Where shouldst thou lead them but to victory?
Wouldst thou have love? thy soft-eyed slaves draw near,
Eager to drain thy strength away from thee.
My thoughts drag backwards to forgotten days,
To scenes etched deeply on my heart by pain;
The thirsty marches, ambuscades, and frays,
The hostile hills, the burnt and barren plain.
Hast thou forgotten how one night was spent,
Crouched in a camel’s carcase by the road,
Along which Akbar’s soldiers, scouting, went,
And he himself, all unsuspecting, rode?
Did we not waken one despairing dawn,
Attacked in front, cut off in rear, by snow,
Till, like a tiger leaping on a fawn,
Half of the hill crashed down upon the foe?
Once, as thou mournd’st thy lifeless brother’s fate,
The red tears falling from thy shattered wrist,
A spent Waziri, forceful still, in hate,
Covered they heart, ten paces off,–and missed!
Ahi, men thrust a worn and dinted sword
Into a velvet-scabbarded repose;
The gilded pageants that salute thee Lord
Cover _one_ sorrow-rusted heart, God knows.
Ah, to exchange this wealth of idle days
For one cold reckless night of Khorasan!
To crouch once more before the camp-fire blaze
That lit the lonely eyes of Yasin Khan.
To watch the starlight glitter on the snows,
The plain stretched round us like a waveless sea,
Waiting until thy weary lids should close
To slip my furs and spread them over thee.
How the wind howled about the lonely pass,
While the faint snow-shine of that plateaued space
Lit, where it lay upon the frozen grass,
The mournful, tragic beauty of thy face.
Thou hast enough caressed the scented hair
Of these soft-breasted girls who waste thee so.
Hast thou not sons for every adult year?
Let us arise, O Yasin Khan, and go!
Let us escape from these prison bars
To gain the freedom of an open sky,
Thy soul and mine, alone beneath the stars,
Intriguing danger, as in days gone by.
Nay; there is no returning, Yasin Khan.
The white peaks ward the passes, as of yore,
The wind sweeps o’er the wastes of Khorasan;–
But thou and I go thitherward no more.
Close, ah, too close, the bitter knowledge clings,
We may not follow where my fancies yearn.
The years go hence, and wild and lovely things,
_Their own_, go with them, never to return.
A few random poems:
- Imitations of Horace: The First Epistle of the Second Book poem – Alexander Pope
- Шекспир – Прекрасный облик в зеркале ты видишь – Сонет 3
- YOU ARE CHRISTMAS EVERYDAY by Steve Troyanovich
- the_prison_of_the_past.html
- Tis Time, I Think, By Wenlock Town poem – A. E. Housman
- Владимир Набоков – Я на море гляжу из мраморного храма
- Wintering by Sylvia Plath
- К 8-му марта
- Youth And Beauty by William Carlos Williams
- Robert Burns: The Last Time I Came O’er The Moor:
- Orlando Furioso Canto 17 by Ludovico Ariosto
- A Prayer For Old Age by William Butler Yeats
- On the Portrait of Two Beautiful Young People poem – Gerard Manley Hopkins poems
- Do You Know What Its Like
- Stretch Mark Cream – How Creams Help Remove Stretch Marks
External links
Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus
Talking Writing Monster’s Page –
Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh
Poems in English
- Robert Burns: Epistle To J. Lapraik, An Old Scottish Bard:
- Robert Burns: Death and Doctor Hornbook : A True Story
- Robert Burns: Tarbolton Lasses, The:
- Robert Burns: Epitaph On Holy Willie:
- Robert Burns: Holy Willie’s Prayer: “And send the godly in a pet to pray.” – Pope.
- Robert Burns: Epistle To Davie, A Brother Poet:
- Robert Burns: The Twa Herds; Or, The Holy Tulyie: An Unco Mournfu’ Tale
- Robert Burns: Man Was Made To Mourn: A Dirge:
- Robert Burns: Lines On The Author’s Death: Written With The Supposed View Of Being Handed To Rankine After The Poet’s Interment
- Robert Burns: Epitaph On John Rankine:
- Robert Burns: On Tam The Chapman:
- Robert Burns: Another [Epigram On The Said Occasion… On A Henpecked Country Squire]:
- Robert Burns: Epigram On The Said Occasion [On A Henpecked Country Squire]:
- Robert Burns: Tragic Fragment:
- Robert Burns: On A Henpecked Country Squire:
- Robert Burns: On A Noisy Polemic:
- Robert Burns: The Belles Of Mauchline:
- Robert Burns: My Girl She’s Airy: Fragment
- Robert Burns: The Mauchline Lady: Fragment
- Robert Burns: O Leave Novels:
More external links (open in a new tab):
Doska or the Board – write anything
Search engines:
Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)
Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.
Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees
Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.
Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.
Parallel Translations of Poetry
The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works
Violet Nicolson ( 1865 – 1904); otherwise known as Adela Florence Nicolson (née Cory), was an English poetess who wrote under the pseudonym of Laurence Hope, however she became known as Violet Nicolson. In the early 1900s, she became a best-selling author. She committed suicide and is buried in Madras, now Chennai, India.